Resistance
by Smoltenica
Summary: While on another rescue mission, Seamus encounters Daphne Greengrass under more pleasant circumstances and finds his preconceptions a little challenged. Contemplation follows. A companion piece to "Like Bambrack, or an Inauspicious Meet".
1. Resistance

**Resistance**

Dennis Creevey squirmed free from the ropes, rubbing his wrists as he chattered away.

"Blimey but those ropes burn, I didn't really believe Colin when he told me about it but it really does hurt, and I didn't think that it'd happen, just because I was the slowest to master the stinging hex! Hey Seamus, reckon I can just stay in the Room with you and Colin and the rest now? Because they know who I am and if I go back to my dorms then I'll have to go to class again and it's really awful and-"

"Dennis, shut up," Seamus hissed, furtively glancing around the dungeon. "I don't know how long my spells will hold up!"

"Not very long, if they held up at all," a voice said dryly, and he leaped back, automatically casting a shield charm. From the corner of the room emanated a small light, like that of a hinkypunk through the fog of a still moving morning.

"Daphne?" he said, uncertainly. "Daphne Greengrass?"

"I don't think that voice recognition does that much to support poorly cast cloaking spells," Daphne said thoughtfully, placing a glowing bell jar on the table beside her. "Although I do give you credit for it as you've only really heard me speak once."

Dennis' eyes bulged.

"You're a Slytherin!" he squeaked, and Daphne emitted a short, dry laugh.

"Excellent observation," she said, "I knew that intelligence was a trait reserved for Gryffindors."

He heard the jibe, but Seamus was too busy trying to ignore the tiny cauldron of strange colours that had started simmering, somewhere near his chest region, to respond. And even if he had, he wasn't sure that repartee was his strength.

"Yeah," he said instead, trying to keep his voice casual, "but why are you here?"

Daphne looked at him and smiled coolly, though a hazy tiredness filled her hazel eyes.

"I had to make sure your little squirt kept breathing until one of your lot turned up. The posture Carrow left him in- it leads to suffocation. My sister learned about it in Muggle Studies. And he is alive, and well, so I suggest that you leave now."

Dennis took her at her word, and scampered off.

"I'll go to the Room, Colin told me how!" he squeaked, his eyes still wide as he scurried through the open door.

Seamus, however, lingered.

"You should hurry up," Daphne said quietly, turning around. "There's only so long Professor Slughorn can cover for me when I'm meant to be brewing potions three classrooms away."

Professor Slughorn? Covering? Meant to be-

"But-" he said stupidly. "But you're-"

"A Slytherin?" Daphne gave a humorous laugh and turned around. "Yes, and we're all oh so evil. Don't be daft, Seamus, it doesn't suit you. It makes the side you fight for look incredibly hypocritical if you can't accept that not everything is black and white. It's the fault of Death Eaters and you lot alike- Dumbledore's Army, do you call yourself? Or an Order? Either way, it doesn't matter- either it's blood, or it's house. But it's always a group that is wrong, always a group."

"The other times," Seamus said, still slightly dazed and aware of the fact that he had not yet fully comprehended everything Daphne had said. "The other times we've come from the Room to rescue someone- did you know? Did Professor Slughorn know?"

Daphne picked up the jar and started heading to the door silently.

"I should have guessed that you would completely miss my point and pick up the details," she remarked curtly, though Seamus instinctively knew that she was shielding disappointment. "Typical Gryffindor."

"No," he protested, "no- I- I just need to think about it. It's a lot to- to register. And- I _am _interested. Every other time-"

She looked at him then, her expression unreadable. A dozen emotions seemed to flicker through her eyes, but perhaps that was his imagination, or the firelight from her jar. Perhaps he simply imagined the dance of shadow and light that glimmered and died and rose to stillness.

"No," she said softly, "my sister started the watch. And there are several of us. We are Slytherins, and perhaps we are better than most at hiding what we think and believe, but we are not heartless, not all of us. And we don't need your judgement. It's too often misplaced."

"I'm not judging you," Seamus said instantly, and coloured.

Daphne smiled at him gently (and he thought of the soft rain that always covered Dublin, the dusting of damp over the busy, isolating streets).

"You do," she said, kindly, "everybody does. Take care of yourself, Seamus. Your spellwork isn't very strong- were you attempting a cloaking spell?"

He nodded dumbly.

"I would recommend speaking with Professor Flitwick. I am sure he would be happy to give you extra help outside of class. Call them remedial lessons, the Carrows and some Slytherins will laugh, but it will help." She paused, shaking her head slightly. "I think you will need all the help you can get."

And with that she swept out of the dungeon, the flames from her bell jar flickering softly against the fading walls of stone.


	2. A Question of Difference

**A Question of Difference**

He sat brooding in the Room later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep.

_I__ could __really__ do__ with __a__ drink_, he thought, and a bottle of Firewhisky materialised beside him.

"Christ, this Room'll turn me into a drunkard."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't drink so much," said Lavender from behind him, easing into a chair that had not been there a moment before. "Although I suppose you have a stereotype to live up to, being Irish and all."

Seamus drummed the neck of the bottle for a moment then let his hand drift away.

"I wasn't really going to drink," he said, and realised that it was true. The bottle disappeared. "I just- there's- there's a lot to think about I don't think I've really considered before."

He heard, rather than saw, Lavender pull herself from the chair and curl herself into a mildly contorted position next to him.

"Like what?"

He shook his head, seeing Daphne's tired eyes.

_"It's your problem- Death Eaters and your lot alike... it's not all black and white." _

They sat in the dark for a while, as the words bubbled up and died away in Seamus' throat, leaving an invisible odour of expectation and fear wafting in the air.

The war had changed them, he realised with a sudden clarity; Hogwarts had changed them so much. The old Lavender he knew, the Lavender he'd kissed under the mistletoe in fourth year when they'd gone to the Yule Ball- the sad and resigned Lavender he'd comforted after she and Ron had broken up- that old Lavender was so different to the girl who now sat beside him, not touching him, letting him stew in his thoughts. The war had killed that innocent, bright-eyed girl. But there she was, next to him, breathing, supporting him with a (sensitivity?)- an awareness he'd never known she'd possessed. So then, the death of the old Lavender was only really a changed Lavender.

Merlin but he was becoming philosophical. He wouldn't be this bad if only was Dean was here… But Dean _couldn__'__t _be here. He _had_ to run. And Christ but that made his blood boil. Dean _belonged _here, Hogwarts was their home, Dean was like his brother, the one who kept him in check- only Hogwarts had changed. And when Dean came back (_if_, a part of his mind whispered, and Seamus hated himself for it)- he wouldn't be the same Dean who he'd played soccer _and _quidditch with, who he'd poked fun at over years of train trips and surreptitious notes in class.

_It's not all black and white. _

A sudden calm broke through the air, and Seamus knew he was free to speak.

"Do you ever think that we might be fighting the wrong way?" he asked, turning towards Lavender. They could only see the outlines of each others' face, but even just outlines- that was something more personal. Blurred, and unclear, but it hinted at something real, something solid.

"The wrong way?" Lavender's voice was tremulous. "Seamus, you're not-"

He shook his head before he remembered she could barely see him.

"I'm not questioning the war," he said, "I'm not questioning that You Know Who and his lot are wrong, and evil, and-" he shivered. "Dark. I'm not questioning that. But- the way we're fighting, the way we face class- it's always 'us and them'. Us against the Slytherins. Everyone against the Slytherins. Isn't that- does that- does it strike you as- strange?"

Even in the dark, he could imagine Lavender's eyes widening.

"But Seamus," she said, her voice patient, but still somewhat suspicious, "they're- Slytherins. They all-"

"But that's just it," he cut in, angrily. "They're Slytherins. They all. We're just- throwing them in, as if because they're Slytherin they're evil, the way a Death Eater would look at us and say that because we're half bloods, we're filth! They can't all be like that- they're not all like that."

A small light emanated from Lavender's wand as she peered at him.

"Seamus," she said, "is there something you're not telling me?"

And there was a hint of the old Lavender again.

"If you think this is just because I fancy someone then you're missing the point," he said harshly, unsure of whether he was angrier or purely frustrated (or just unsettled, because the strange simmering pot was making its presence felt).

He saw the furrows in Lavender's brow.

"I- I never thought of things that way," she admitted. "It's just- they all seem- they all seem so unpleasant."

"Professor Slughorn isn't unpleasant," Seamus pointed out, wondering why he couldn't bring himself to mention Daphne's name out loud. "And- anyway- isn't a characteristic of Slytherins meant to be cunning? I guess- one way to keep a low profile is to be- I dunno, cunningly unpleasant."

Lavender paused, laid her wand on her lap, and rested her chin on her hands.

"I suppose," she said. "I'm just- it's- it's hard. Because I see the Slytherins cursing and hexing all those young and helpless students in class and laughing with the Carrows and-"

"And everything looks just so evil. And simple," Seamus finished.

Lavender sighed.

"I don't know what we'd do, even if what you say is right, Seamus," she said, and the same tiredness Seamus had seen in Daphne's eyes down in the dungeons seemed to seep into Lavender's words.

"We could know," he said, almost fiercely, and she gave him a tired smile.

"Yes," she said, "but would it make any real difference?"

And Seamus saw the figure of Dennis Creevey hanging from the dungeon wall, the rope burns around his wrists- but Dennis, breathing, _chatting_-

_That __position__… __suffocation, _Daphne's voice said, magnified a thousand times and echoing around his brain.

He saw Dennis, running out of the dungeons, now sleeping by his brother's side in this very room- Daphne, sweeping out of the classroom, having ensured Dennis' wellbeing.

_We don't need your judgement. _

"I think it does," he said.

And they sat together in the dark as the hours crept through the night, sat together as if caught in the still moment of a world ever in flux.

"I think it does."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I wasn't sure whether to merge this with "Resistance" or not. They belong in the same world and obviously are centred on the same event, but I'm more than happy to separate this and let it stand as a fic on its own right if that works better, structurally speaking. _


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